Artigiano
by Perrikara
Summary: Lovino Vargas - waiter at the Swing Cafe - has a history with music. But, short on cash and not in the best position to get more, his passions lay trampled firmly into the dust, helped by his abhorrent boss. But the cafe has just come under new management, and with this comes big changes; Lovino soon meets someone who can help rekindle his old passions and set alight new flames.


**A THIN** breeze whistled through the alleyways tucked away behind the main road, a mere echo of the gusts churning up the salty seawater some twenty metres away. The place appeared deserted in favour of the grey beach and one prized chippy. Not one passer-by came to wonder what could be hidden inside the cobblestone labyrinth - many leathered shoes clicked by, a pushchair trundled past followed by a very tired-looking man - but the alleyway's sole visitor was an old leaf from a long-discarded magazine. A celebrity smiled eternally from its worn and faded pages.

One building seemed responsible for the absence of people out in the narrow streets, amid the colourful plastered houses and olive trees. A small, dark corner of the road had attracted a swarm of lurkers, with a lonely pair smoking outside in all-black attire. One nudged the other and nodded in the direction of a straying couple, who shuffled away with haste when the two shady figures fixed a glare and a sneer on them.

"Oi, sweetheart!" One called in a voice made rough by smoke, "What are you doing with scum like him? I can show you a better time!" The other caught on and emitted a loud wolf-whistle, raising his black fedora for the first time. The girl blushed furiously and had to be physically restrained by her boyfriend.

"You don't know him!" She shouted as she began to move away from the two men, whose expressions had turned very sour indeed and whose hands had both inched towards two suspicious bulges concealed beneath their suits. She was suddenly aware that these people were probably not your typical greasy, drunk catcallers. One man handed the other one a packet of white powder subtly behind his back.

Inside the building - a cafe - the scene was not much better. There was some friendly music playing from a battered pair of speakers, but it could not be heard for the cacophony of rowing, gambling and bargaining. Many men of the same calibre as the two outside showed utter disrespect for the law as they went about their business. Here: one person reached across a table to grab at a collared throat, cursing him violently, there: another passed over two thirds of his life savings as it became apparent that the chips were not in his favour that day.

At the bar, someone quite at odds with the rest of the scene wearily attempted to clean the ever-growing mound of glasses stacking up behind him while navigating the swarming crowd of people at the bar who still wanted drinks. His green eyes were dark with irritation - even the golden central rings had lost their usual glow. His brown hair hung limp in front of his eyes, blackened by sweat from the stuffy surroundings and curling slightly at the ends. His formal waistcoat-and-tie uniform chafed and seemed to mark him out from the black-clad customers, who gathered around him, some of them simply jeering.

"Hey, barboy, you little slut. I told you, give me more of this stuff or you'll find yourself without any more to give!" Lovino gritted his teeth without looking up,

"You've already had five refills, and by the looks of things that's more than enough for you," he spoke gently, perhaps even too gently to be heard above the din, but his tone warned of the explosive anger concealed behind his words. He moved on to the next customer, one hand clutching the knife in his pocket through the fabric.

A thump was heard as the man who had been rejected ground his fist into the dark oak of the bar. He reached over and pulled the poor barman towards him by the throat, spittle landing everywhere as he threatened him.

"I said, get me more," his voice growled. He paused for breath, before yelling, "Did you not hear me?" Not one person in the room turned towards the sound, with all of them absorbed in their own private duels, but those clustered around the bar began to complain.

"Come off it, Alberto, we want drinks too!" One person moaned. Alberto spat in their direction.

Lovino felt the pressure on his neck slacken before what felt like a sack full of bricks slammed into the side of his head, sending him staggering backwards. His head pulsed and whirled as he tasted the tell-tale metallic flavour of blood in his mouth. His hand tightened on his knife, but he knew he couldn't bring it to that. Holding a hand to his face, he protested quietly, his voice muffled by the swelling pool of blood in his mouth. Although he knew it would do nothing but anger Alberto, he knew he had to follow the procedure,

"Sir, I'm going to have to ask you to leave,"

"Leave, my ass," the larger man exclaimed. _How articulate_. Alberto drew back his hand, preparing himself for another blow. It took him a while to steady himself, being ridiculously drunk, which gave Lovino a brief window in which to dodge under the bar table. The hand shot right over him, and the man staggered face-first into the table, tripping over a stool. Lovino, hidden under the bar, was conflicted. He couldn't win a fight - the other man had a gun. He had no means of contacting anyone, either, and the man looked like he wouldn't give up now he'd started, even if he was offered a drink. He decided to rile up the others against their colleague:

"Listen, the others want their drinks. Why don't you get out of the way?" He challenged, standing up but back, well out of reach of Alberto. His statement was meet with cries of agreement from the other, equally drunk, men. A conflict developed quickly from there, with Alberto trying to take on at least five aggressors with his gun forgotten in his pocket. He was quickly knocked out. Pursing his lips smugly, Lovino watched the group cart Alberto through the doors and unceremoniously into the streets, where he'd likely wake up tomorrow morning with a banging headache and a lack of memories regarding his little brawl with the barman.

"Lovino!" A voice came from the backroom, just a tad higher-pitched than the rest of the shouting and so possible to distinguish from the never-ceasing background noise. Lovino cringed - it still scraped his ears and was far from the kind of voice he wanted to hear. Emerging among the crowd, his boss fixed furious eyes on him, marching forwards.

"How dare you, trying to drive away our customers, are you? I could hear your funny little play-fight from downstairs!" She chastised as she joined him behind the bar, somehow ignoring the constant violence around her that Lovino had hardly added to at all. Lovino looked down, focusing on the glass he was cleaning, pretending the blood stains on the sides were exceptionally tough.

"Sorry ma'am," he whispered, his voice barely audible over the shouting, although there were many other things he would have liked to say, like: _I didn't raise a hand against him. I followed the procedure. There are fights going on 24/7, why do you care about this one?_

Of course, he knew the answer to his last question - his boss simply didn't like him. While she stayed downstairs in the cellar and chatted with the only other employee - a young boy that Lovino had never really spoken to much - he had to deal with the rowdy crowds up here. _Era sempre la stessa zuppa_.  
Her cardboard face remained stiff as she regarded him with small, dark eyes.

"I have had it in mind to fire you for a long time, boy - you're always causing trouble." Lovino frowned. It seemed today would be the day she finally got her dream, "But my last shift's over," she inclined her head towards the clock on the wall behind them, which now read five past midnight. Indeed, the light coming in through the large, arched windows embedded in the cold stone walls had long since faded away.

"You're leaving?" Lovino couldn't help the hope creeping into his voice. Trust Rosa to keep this wonderful news between herself and the cellar-boy.

"Yes, you stupid boy, don't you ever listen? The new manager will be arriving tomorrow. I must say, I don't quite approve of their... tastes... But they offered the most money for the business, so how could I refuse?"

Lovino smiled in what he hoped looked like an understanding gesture. If the new manager disagreed with Rosa, they'd be sure to get on.

"I'll be sad to see you go," he spoke formally, before resuming his washing, trying to take advantage of the sudden lapse in interest from customers to reduce the size of the pile of glasses - he still had an hour to go. His boss seemed to get the hint for once and edged away through the crowd into the cold night air, tightening a garish scarf around her neck.


End file.
